


(When He Worries About You) It Means He Cares

by abyssith



Series: A Candy Cane Scarf From A Well-Dressed Dwarf [5]
Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Blitzstone, Canon details, Drabble, M/M, POV Blitzen, POV First Person, Second grade poking contests, sword of summer, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssith/pseuds/abyssith
Summary: Hearth tries to sign more but gives up and settles for fully sinking onto his side, poking me in the chest and simply signing, Stupid.OR:The one where they poke each other. (I tried.)**Title from some random quote I saw on the Interwebs**





	

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry. I should rewrite this. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor do I pretend to own Magnus Chase: The Sword of Summer in the entirety of its content. All characters, settings, mentioned plot lines, etc. belongs solely to Rick Riordan, his team, and whoever the Helheim created Norse mythology.

  
Everyone’s exhausted. The sun’s beginning to rise, changing the malicious darkness into a periwinkle-tinted charcoal. I don’t feel any of the warmth, though. Hearth’s pressed against my side, supporting me. Neither of us have recovered enough from the battle, namely me. My throat and face still throbs, and my body is generally in a constant burning state, as if all of the fatigue and pain I had experienced during this mission was accumulating into one really annoying ball in my gut.

I lean against the elf’s side, trying to steady my breath as we stumble along together. I feel the ground shifting underneath us as the Isle of Heather begins to sink back into the ocean, which makes me nudge Hearth, who silently makes the agreement with me to move faster. His hand tightens around my shoulder, and I fasten my grip on his shirt as we shuffle a bit quicker. I spot Magnus, somehow carrying Gunilla and still moving faster than me and Hearth, which encourages me to find the strength to keep going.

I want to say something to Hearth, maybe to thank him for supporting me this entire time — not just now, but since this whole irritating business with Fenris started — or just to acknowledge that he’s still completely here beside me. I can’t do that, though, without breaking the mutual help system we’ve got going on here. However, all I have to do is turn my head slightly, pressing my forehead into his shoulder, and instantly my nose is filled up with a combination of pine and heather: a hybrid aroma of elf and earth and magic. It makes me a little dizzy, causing my step to falter. Hearth instantly pulls me back as I stumble, and I realize the movement was automatic, which makes me feel a little bit better.

I glance up at him, realizing that his dull blue eyes are fixed on me with a gaze too intense for the current situation. I meet them, startled, transfixed by the way that the clouds in the icy orbs seem to slowly clear away as we lock eyes for a couple of seconds, our pace temporarily slowing. His eyes sparkle, but before the light gets too bright, Hearth breaks the eye contact and focuses ahead of him, a tinge of green dusting the very tips of his ears, almost invisible. In fact, I don’t even know how I spotted it in the very early morning light.

I bite my lip and hide a smirk, glancing away. The coast is right ahead, and one of Magnus’s hallmates — T.J., I’ve heard him called — tosses something resembling a handkerchief into the crashing waves. In midair, it suddenly contorts and expands into a full-sized Viking warship within ten seconds that bobs on the waves. 

I pat Hearth’s back and get his attention, mumbling, “C’mon, buddy, almost there. Just a little farther.”

Hearth gives me an incredulous look accompanied by a drastic rise of one eyebrow, as if he can’t believe I’m the one encouraging the other to go faster. I gaze back with a deadpan expression, only looking away when we reach the edge. Sam’s standing at the rail, pulling Mallory into the ship. She meets my eyes and extends her hand to me.

“No,” I protest, breaking my hold on Hearth and stepping away. “Hearthstone first.”

Despite not having directly heard my words, he must have caught enough of it to realize what I said. He glares at me and insists I go before him, signing something about me being injured that I frankly don’t pay attention to. Sam sighs and manages to get Hearth’s attention, holding her hands out to help him up. After a second of internal conflict, Hearth decides on fixing me with another annoyed look before accepting Sam’s hands. The ex-Valkyrie pulls him up and then glances back at me. “And don’t say you don’t need help, Blitzen,” she interrupts me before I can say a word. “You know you’re hurt, even if it’s just a little bit. Plus, Hearth’s watching, and you know it’s what he wants.”

I roll my eyes and grumble, “A little too well,” before hopping up with as little help from the injured girl as I could get away with. 

As soon as my feet hit the deck, however, I’m overwhelmed by a second surge of exhaustion. I sway perilously, having to close my eyes for a second to clear the nausea. Immediately gentle, delicate hands that could only belong to an elf steady my shoulders, and I let Hearth guide me to the bow, too weak to do my own thing. Almost instantaneously we both collapse in unison, the wood shockingly warm underneath me. It feels more comfortable than anything else I’ve slept on before. That in itself is a sure sign I’m tired.

Hearth is half lying down, half sitting, so it looks like he’s in a position that makes me expect him to ask me, Draw me like one of your French girls. 

Mock annoyance and concern glitter in the depths of his ashy blue eyes, and he signs simply, You’re a stupid dwarf.

I snort and sign back, Well, you’re the one who got all magic wizard on us.

Stupid how?

What if it didn’t work?

Hearth huffs and protests, You could have died. Understand?

I laugh, trying to ignore the lump in my throat when I catch a glimpse of emotion threatening to burst in Hearth’s eyes. I didn’t, though, I sign. So not stupid.

Hearth tries to sign more, probably to lecture me about the possible risks of rushing a vicious feral wolf with nothing but a ball of string, but gives up and settles for fully sinking onto his side, poking me in the chest and simply signing (for the umpteenth time today), Stupid.

I manage a chuckle, poking his forehead and then signing, Annoying.

That earns me another poke on the shoulder followed by an Idiot.

Dummy, I shoot back, following the pattern and booping his nose.

Rude, Hearth signs indignantly.

Oh, I’m the rude one.

Yes.

I sigh and shake my head, about to keep arguing with the elf, when I hear a commotion behind me. I sit up and look over my shoulder, realizing that Halfborn Gunderson is badly hurt. I frown deeply and see Magnus kneeling at his side, his hands beginning to glow, that look of determination settling on his face that I’ve come to know as the look he makes before healing someone. “Kid,” I warn, raising my voice, already knowing how injured the half-troll is, both inside and outside, “think about this. You’re already weak.” I’d prefer him not to burn up trying to save the half-troll, since that’s a pretty pointless sacrifice if it just causes another death in the process.

“I have to,” comes Magnus’s predictable answer, turning away from me.

I purse my lips and sink back down, still a little concerned. However, I’m not too worried, since it feels kind of rude of the Norns to let us get this far and then have Magnus die by healing someone. So I leave it up to fate and turn back to Hearth, whose eyelids are drooping big time. I allow myself a small smile and poke him one last time. Amazing, I sign when I get his full attention.

This puzzles him. What? he asks.

You were amazing out there, I explain.

Oh. Hearth’s hand falter before rushing on, his movements getting a little sloppy and unclear. I’m still able to make out, But you scared me. Out there. When wolf slashed you.

I know. I’m sorry, I sign, letting my fist settle on my chest for a few seconds, knowing full well the grief that Hearth must have felt, certain I had died.

Hearth sniffs and gets a grip on my shoulder, dragging me closer in his own way of saying Don’t do it again. 

I snort, letting him press me against his chest. I bump his chin with my head while nodding, entirely on purpose. “M’kay,” I mumble into his scarf, smelling that pine-heather combination again that makes my head spin.

I’m abruptly aware of the fact that we’re on a boat in few view of everyone else, but I convince myself that there’s nothing to hide. We’re all friends here. And whether that’s true or not, I couldn’t care less. Because I’m exhausted, and right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than right here in my elf’s arms, inhaling his earthy scent that reminds me that he’s alive, he’s here, he’s not gonna let me go that easily. I feel my heart twist a bit, squeezing with affection when I feel Hearth’s face nuzzling into my hair. 

I swear I feel him mouth Stupid again. I make a mental note to ask Odin if he could remove that word from the elf’s vocabulary.

But better yet, I feel him smile when I flick his arm, moving my head up so that I can get the direct heat radiating from Hearth. He flinches at the sudden touch of my eyelashes brushing his neck, but he relaxes when I breathe out slowly, letting the warm air ghost over his skin. His hand closes around my shoulder, clearly comfortable there. 

My hand fiddles with the edge of Hearth’s scarf, feeling every thread and seam I hand-stitched just for him. A smile tugs at my lips when I feel his pulse drumming against my forehead, and I drowsily wonder how I was ever chosen to be the one to save this elf. I never thought he’d wind up caring this much about me, or vice versa. I knew he was something special the moment I laid eyes on him, half-dead and gray on my balcony in Nidavellir, but if someone told me that I’d be getting cuddly with him on a ship sailing away from Fenris’s island, I would’ve called them insane. Now I call that kind of thinking insane — that there was ever a time that the two of us wasn’t the meaning of life to the other.

As subtly as I can, I slip the arm closest to the ground underneath the crook of his neck and push it into Hearth’s fluffy platinum hair, slightly damp with the morning dew. Finally satisfied with the position, satisfied with where we are, with one of his arms carelessly slung over my elbow, I close my eyes with contentment as the smell of the forest chases me into a deep sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> In retrospect, I guess this wasn't too bad, but it's...eh.  
> Also just so you know, the reason I didn't add this onto Chainmail Ties is because it's not related to that one. Because if it was, Blitzen would have probably kissed Hearthstone. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. But don't worry, since the next one will most likely have that kind of fluff for you thirsty fangirls/boys...


End file.
